The Netherfield Dance
by Erik'sTrueAngel
Summary: Inspired by the photo of Darcy and Lizzy dancing. What did happen at the Netherfield ball?


Rated: T or PG-13

Genre: Romance/Humor

Summary: Inspired by the photo of Darcy and Lizzy dancing. What did happen at the Netherfield ball?

Disclaimer: I do not own anything involving _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ and _Pride and Prejudice_. Majority of the dialogue is borrowed heavily from Seth Grahame-Smith's novel as well as Jane Austen because it's brilliant and the conversation had to have gone something like this.

A/N: So since I saw the movie, I have been slightly obsessed with everything involving P&P again and anything relating to PPZ. After seeing that picture of Darcy and Lizzy dancing close to each other and holding each other it was screaming for that story to be told. I am not going to pretend I know a lot about regency dances so a lot of this is pure speculation and imagination. If anything I hope it is entertaining. Thank you to everyone for reading and for leaving a review. I hope you enjoy it!

The Netherfield Dance

By: Erik'sTrueAngel

While Elizabeth Bennet has tolerated many humiliations over the years (considering her mother and her younger sisters, one has to bear it with strained civility), however, nothing could compare to her ridiculous cousin who she had the utmost misfortune to stand as a partner in one of the first dances.

Mr. Collins— _nay_ —Parson Collins was a fool unlike any other. Regardless of his youth, the vicar was unaware of the social and propriety boundaries he had crossed in what she could only describe as _prancing_ ignorance. His peacocking methods only accomplish the opposite of his intentions, which Elizabeth had to force her revile under a very force and restrained grin that only brought a dull pain in her lower jaw. Normally, a situation like this she could use her humor and wit to joke and laugh at the foppish man to defuse the awkward and uncomfortable setting. As it were, her sarcasm had gone completely over his head! Preferably, Elizabeth would rather take her dagger and drive it through his ribs, but she was certain Parson Collins would continue his "graceful" dancing while bleeding out to death and complimenting how Lady Catherine de Bourgh had told him about his lightness of foot.

The image did put a genuine smile on her lips as she imagined how the comical scene would go. However, Mr. Collins took her smile as a sign of her affection towards him and how he was doing a splendid job on impressing his lovely cousin with his natural skill and talent.

At long last the music stopped and this false pretense of enjoyment was over much to Elizabeth's relief. It was moments like this she wished she could ignore society's proper manners and be rid of Mr. Collins for good, but he was her cousin and her family's estate was entailed to him. Perhaps some kindness might make him incline to allow her mother and sisters to reside there without a benefit of a marriage. Yet, Elizabeth's sensibilities knew she was only fooling herself with such a thought.

Subtlety was not thy Collins' name.

Therefore, there was only so much of Mr. Collins' company that Elizabeth could take. When she heard a voice behind her requesting the honor for the next dance, she was only _too_ happy to oblige quickly and without ascertaining who the owner of the voice was until she turned around. An impulsive decision that she would later come to regret most fervently.

Upon the reveal that it was Mr. Darcy himself rendered Elizabeth momentarily speechless and baffled. As to why this proud man would lower himself to her _tolerable_ presence to ask such a question left her wholly unprepared.

The warrior within her was rattled and she strongly _disliked_ being caught off-guard. Her Shaolin master would be most disappointed and that only further infuriated her temper.

The fact that Mr. Darcy managed to slip through her defenses was unnerving, which served to enhance her loathing of the man. Elizabeth had to clench her fists to avoid enacting bodily harm to Mr. Darcy's person due to his impertinence, especially when one knows never to approach a fighter from behind without properly announcing oneself lest one should find oneself at the mercy of a swift punch to the face.

As much as Elizabeth wanted to retract her words (and Lord knows she wanted to take Mr. Darcy down a peg or two), she knew she could not. She gave her consent to the next dance and she had little choice but to follow through on her promise. The only consolation to the matter was watching Mr. Collins go to Lydia for the obvious request to dance. Her youngest sister's reaction was indeed priceless and Elizabeth had to hold back her pleasure as Lydia had no other choice upon Mrs. Bennet's acceptance of how "honored Lydia would be to dance with you Mr. Collins." 

At least Elizabeth wouldn't be the only Bennet girl to stand with the good parson.

The dancers took their places as they commenced to bow to their partners as the music began.

To Elizabeth's chagrin, the dance happened to be a favorite of hers; of course, she would have to change her opinion now that Mr. Darcy had soured the experience. _Although_ , she surmised, _this could be my chance to uncover more about Mr. Darcy and his character._

His insult towards her appearance was not as consequential; rather, it was to hear about Mr. Wickham's unhappy history with Mr. Darcy that forged her opinion. She knew her deductions would not be complete if she did not have Mr. Darcy's side as much as she did not want to hear what he had to say. His biased accounts might not alter her mind, but she was determined to be much more honorable than he and allow him to defend himself. Afterwards, she will reflect and come to a satisfying conclusion so there will be no more misunderstandings as to the type of man Mr. Darcy was.

Presently, they moved about in silence without the occasional mental grimace at Mr. Collins unneeded additional movements to the dance. She did observe (rather begrudgingly) how handsome Mr. Darcy appeared this evening in his black coat. It was startling to realize he owned more than one coat, especially since she had seen him wearing his long leather jacket while Jane was convalesced in Netherfield weeks ago. Perhaps his friend charged him to wear something that wasn't so intimidating as to not frighten the guests. If that were so, then Mr. Bingley should have insisted he tried not to scowl so much. His countenance alone was enough to turn people away.

Despite the unpleasant expression that was forever etched on Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth noted that he was able to carry himself well in the dance. She never thought she could equate fluid agility to someone who holds himself so rigid around others. Yet, Mr. Darcy did not miss a beat as his feet maintained the lightest of steps so not to injure his partner. Since the beginning of the dance, Elizabeth could not forget that beneath his genteel attire was a warrior like herself, and the memory of watching him train in the garden late at night caused a sudden and uncontrolled flush to arise on her cheeks.

Fearing her thoughts would continue on this ill-timing moment, Elizabeth finally remarked about how well Mr. Bingley and his sisters organized the ball under the unfortunate circumstances of zombies lurking in Hertfordshire. To which she also added that the dance might deter any zombie for its complexity would no doubt cause a limb or two to be lost in the crowd. She was merely hinting at Mr. Collins exuberant energy as he turned Lydia a little too much aggressively as she inadvertently stumbled into the gentleman on her left.

Elizabeth missed the ghost of a smile that appeared briefly on Mr. Darcy's countenance before he returned to his stoic and solemn look. The continued silence was Elizabeth's reward and she was finding it to be quite exceedingly annoying.

"It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy," she said abruptly. "I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some comment on the size of the room, or the number of couples."

Whatever Elizabeth had expected he did not live up to her expectations with his short response. "Whatever you wish I will be happy to oblige."

It appeared that _she_ will have to lead the conversation if he could not bring himself to come up with something that would make this situation bearable.

"A reply will do for the present. Perhaps by and by I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones."

"On the contrary, I find that balls are much more enjoyable when they cease to be private."

She hid her face lest her blush betrayed her but there was no denying that his comment was making her think of something else that was anything but proper. In any case, his piercing gaze was doing little to help as her breath quickened. Once more, she could not fathom why Mr. Darcy persisted in his staring towards her, but upon a closer inspection as she glided around him, she could not help but notice how his eyes darkened. It was discomfiting to have a gentleman look at her in such a manner, but she could only assume his contempt was making him regret his decision.

Well, it was not _she_ who asked him to dance.

"I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds," she said. "We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, or be regarded as uncommonly clever. As for our warrior skills, it is best to behead a zombie before discovering anything of importance."

Evidently, she was still upset over his interference with a certain undead Mrs. Featherstone. Darcy could not understand why she was not more grateful that he saved her life. Had he not shot the zombie's head off then there was no telling what would have become of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And he certainly would not have the pleasure of witnessing her skill in combat as she and her sisters slaughtered a number of unmentionables. She could hold herself in battle, an admirable quality, but she did not understand the dangers of giving the enemy the upper hand. Her stalling at Mrs. Featherstone indicated a certain doom and showed a poor respect to her Oriental training. He could only give her the benefit of a doubt that Mrs. Featherstone was in her acquaintance and to reconcile the woman's fate was insupportable.

They parted for a brief moment and when they joined again, Darcy countered her words. "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to mine, I cannot pretend to say. And I believe any zombie willing to divulge information is anything more than grunts and groans since they are not as intelligible as you or I. The undead loses all perception of decorum at the precise moment of turning regardless of who they once were."

"Have you taken care to acquaint yourself with a zombie to know this as a fact sir?" Elizabeth demanded, her ire growing that he had the gall to bring up poor Mrs. Featherstone. The woman clearly wanted to warn her about something and had Mr. Darcy not gotten in the way then she would have possessed whatever intel Mrs. Featherstone wanted her to have. Arrogant, insufferable man!

"I daresay I have not," he retorted dryly. "I feel I will not be here at the present if I had."

"So you have no basis to your argument except assumptions."

"No, _experience_. I have seen hundreds of zombies ravage unfortunate villages without nary a pause or the inclination to converse other than to feed on their victims." He paused immediately realizing his volume arisen to a degree. He could not blame Miss Bennet for not understanding his opinion for she had not been on the frontlines. With all her knife-wielding skills, she was one of the lucky few not to see what a horde of zombies could do in their destruction. It was a sight no one should have to live with and Darcy closed his eyes briefly as to block out the gruesome memories.

Elizabeth arched her brow at his sudden silence and wondered if they will return to the aloof attitude that had befallen them at the start. To her astonishment, Mr. Darcy resumed the conversation by switching topics.

"Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?" Was there a hint at disapproval in his voice?

"We do," she answered tartly. "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

As to _whom_ the new acquaintance was, Darcy had little doubt. The thought alone of George Wickham was enough to crack his reserve. For the Bennet girls to be around Wickham, especially Elizabeth, sent furious tremors down his spine. The scoundrel did not deserve to be in the company of such ladies.

"Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his _making_ friends—whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them is less certain," he growled.

Unintentionally or not, something had distinctly changed between them. The platonic dance had quickly become a battleground as the two met their opponent with every step, their gazes locking upon the other with the severest of reproaches. Even with her gloves on, Elizabeth could practically feel the heat in Darcy's grasp as his hand clutched hers a bit tightly as she shared what she felt about Wickham.

"Indeed his happy manners were what drew us to his person. Very agreeable I might add unlike some people. I daresay his friendship is something we will not lose. But I see he has been so unlucky to lose your friendship."

Elizabeth promised herself she wouldn't let Mr. Darcy get to her, but for him to insult Mr. Wickham abhorrently was unforgivable.

However, her thoughts turned elsewhere as she realized how close she and Mr. Darcy became. In the midst of their personal feelings for the gentleman in question, their movements gained speed as if trying to deflect the other's approach. The dance was not on either of their minds as their bodies responded to their partner and it was at a particular part where they became suddenly aware at the impropriety of their embrace.

To any onlooker it was part of the dance. To Elizabeth and Darcy, it was a heightened sense of awareness of feelings that could not be expressed. Her right arm was wrapped around his waist, her hand pressed against the hard muscle beneath his coat; her left hand was held above her head, bringing their faces closer together that Elizabeth felt his warm breath fanning over her lips. On their own volition, her lashes lowered as her bottom lip trembled.

The heat of his body, barely touching, but just enough that it seared through the flimsy material of her gown. A foreign emotion began to coil in her lower belly and spread throughout her limbs. His fingertips continued to scorch her as they lightly stroked her hip, his breathing becoming ragged as her chest rose with each inhale. There was no telling if the other knew how fast their hearts were beating, but the loud drumming in their ears made it no secret to themselves.

She _hated_ him, she _despised_ him.

But why was her blood stirring at the perspective of what an actual sparring match could do with this man? The warrior spirit was calling out to be unleashed, to challenge Mr. Darcy, to put him and his pride in his place. That feeling was not the first nor will it be the last, she suspected. Moreover, she could not describe what it was that also drove her to want to move closer, to actually feel the length of his body, to feel the strength that she witnessed not long ago as he moved his sword under the moonlight with a deadly thrust.

His lips… hovering over hers now that it would not take much, just an inch to tilt her face so as to lightly brush her mouth against his…

Then he released her, coldly awaking her from her earlier musings and dashing the desire that had overwhelmed her better judgment. What _had_ she been thinking? To even suggest that she even _wanted_ to kiss him… Well, Elizabeth suffered a quick mental mishap, probably brought upon Mr. Collins' belief of his terrible dancing being superb. Indeed! That had to have been what caused her to have such an outlandish notion!

The dance couldn't have ended soon enough to Elizabeth's liking. She firmly believed the same could be said for Mr. Darcy as he looked like he wanted nothing more than to retreat to the comfort of his own solitude.

At last the dance did end. As custom, the dance partners bowed to each other.

Before Elizabeth could excuse herself, Mr. Darcy moved forward and captured her attention by seizing her hand.

Imploringly, he searched her face for understanding as he lowered his voice so only her ears could hear:

"Pray, be careful with who you think your friends are. Even the friendliest of faces can hide the devil."

She had not the chance to ask what he meant by such a statement when Mr. Collins began clearing his throat.

The End


End file.
